


Please, Dean

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Injured Dean, M/M, Sam Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 05:18:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5899816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is in hospital. Cas pleads with him to wake up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please, Dean

"Please, Dean. Come back. Come back to me."

 

There is no answer other than the compression and expansion of a pump pushing air in and out of Dean's lungs, since they cannot currently do that for themselves.

 

The hospital room is cold, barren aside from this awful metal framed bed and a spaghetti tangle of machinery that hooks into Dean like artificial arteries, forcing him to live.

 

Cas is forcing him in his own way too, through sheer will. His hands flutter towards Dean, torn between what he believes are forbidden touches and his normal-but-waning willpower that gives Dean his personal space.

 

The doctors had refused to give him any information until Sam arrived, and that waiting period had seemed the longest of his existence. Cas' heart had burnt at the realisation of what next of kin meant, and that he was never truly that for Dean. Kin was family, and whatever words Dean had said about them being just that, in anyone else's eyes, he was nothing to Dean at all.

 

Sam's face had been motionless listening to the doctor's synopsis, and fragments of phrases like _broken ribs_ , _punctured lung_ , _heavy internal bleeding_ , and _assisted breathing_ played on repeat in Cas' mind. His frustration was two-fold; the regular fear and helplessness of Dean’s life hanging in the balance, and the self-loathing that he was no longer able to fix Dean himself.

 

And of course Cas blamed himself. And of course Sam didn't, even if Cas had been the one with Dean when it had happened.

 

There had been nothing supernatural about the car that skidded out of control around the corner and dragged Dean several feet before juddering to a halt. What was unnatural was the silence, the angle of Dean's body, and the stillness that followed.

 

The only wound Cas had walked away with was one of guilt. Dean had bodily stepped in front of him and pushed him out of harm’s way, taking the full brunt of the impact. Protecting him once again, giving him one more reason to never be able to repay him, and one more reason still to love him. Even if he didn't need any more reasons to. Even if that love had never been admitted out loud.

 

He hated himself even more for that.

 

Because if he'd ever told Dean how he felt, perhaps he would have been given the honour of being his next of kin. If he had been honest, maybe now, sat by his bedside, he could hold his hand, stroke his face, kiss his immobile lips.

 

Equally, if he'd allowed his feelings to be known, perhaps he'd have never been allowed there at all. He doesn't particularly like that option, he thinks, but then the current reality is no better either.

 

Cas looks guiltily over to the doorway expecting Sam at any moment, worrying that his words would be overheard, or the feelings on his face revealed.

 

When Sam does return, he hands Cas a tepid cup of coffee and wearily slumps down in the seat opposite him. Sam's eyes are mostly fixed on Dean, but he makes idle conversation. Small observations, vacuous words, anything to fill the nothingness in the space between them.

 

Cas too stares at Dean transfixed, mentally tracing every line of his face, recommitting all of it to memory as though he hasn't a thousand times before. He's so engrossed in his vigil that he doesn't immediately notice Sam's gaze raise to look at him.

 

"If you're blaming yourself, which I absolutely know you will be, I can tell you right now - and on Dean's behalf - that there's no need." Sam's voice is stern, traced with concern for his brother but clear in what he is trying to say.

 

Cas shakes his head, dismissing Sam’s words instantly. "He saved me. Of course it’s my fault."

 

"Were you driving?" Sam demands, but his tone is as gentle as he can make it.

 

"No, but-"

 

"Then in no way is it your fault. He was protecting you. Like he protects everyone. It's what he does, and you know that." Sam sighs then, running a tired hand over his face. "You would have done the same."

 

"But I didn't, Sam.” Cas leans forward in his seat in urgency. “I froze. The car came towards us and-" his voice drifts away, the screech of tires and the crunch of hard metal connecting with the soft of Dean's body playing like a never ending nightmare behind his eyelids.

 

Cas sighs, dropping his head into his hands.

 

"Do something for me, Cas." Sam's tone is urgent enough for Cas' head to shoot up in alarm. Sam's face scrunches up in apology. "Just..."

 

And then his voice trails away, eyes back on Dean's unmoving form. He sighs, long and deep, and turns to fix his gaze on Cas once more. "If Dean gets through this-"

 

" _When_." Cas' tone is adamant. Sam smiles humourlessly in response.

 

" _When_ .” Sam agrees with a light nod. “ _When_ he gets better. Tell him?"

 

Cas' eyes flit away from Sam's, then return briefly, searching for explanation but also bringing down a guard. Sam groans but it's with affection, not malice.

 

"Cas,” he tries, “I know my brother. I know he's crass, and difficult, and rigid as hell. I know he's shit at emotional stuff, and that he's more likely to push people away than let them in. I also know he's...not used to giving in to what he wants."

 

Cas keeps his eyes firmly on Dean's face, but his heart begins to thud.

 

"I like to think after all this time that I know you pretty well too, Cas." The warmth in Sam’s voice is palpable.

 

Cas sucks his lip into his mouth and bites down, refusing to bathe in the comfort Sam’s words offer. "What do you think you know, Sam?" He doesn't mean for his voice to be unkind, but it’s wary and mistrustful, like he's learned first-hand human speech is meant to be when there are things better left unsaid.

 

"I know that you care. That you both do. And it's a long time since it's been just friendship."

 

Cas shakes his head but doesn't make any denial. Nothing has, or will ever happen, so what is there to deny?

 

"Cas. There's nothing wrong with-"

 

"You are mistaken, Sam." Cas’ voice is cutting, and full of authority. But he is fooling neither of them.

 

Sam proves that when he huffs out a disbelieving laugh. "You telling me you don't feel...something?"

 

Cas stares down at his interlaced fingers and swallows roughly. "Dean,” he presses out. “Dean does not..."

 

"Oh trust me. He does. Maybe he's too pigheaded to say anything, or he's still hearing Dad’s bullshit, or I don't know...something. But he cares, Cas.”

 

Cas shakes his head again, feeling a Sam Speech coming on.

 

He knows he’s right by the set of Sam’s shoulders, and Cas leans back in his chair, waiting for the inevitable.

 

Sam launches in.

 

“I've had to watch him close in on himself, or tear himself apart, every single time we've thought we've lost you. He defends you, even when it's obvious you're doing something stupid," and Sam arches his eyebrow then, making Cas squirm a little, before continuing, "and if I had a dollar for every sleepless night he’s had - and given me - when you've not been around, or not answered, or for every ' _you think Cas is okay?_ '” he says in a high voice that’s clearly meant to imitate Dean but does nothing but make Cas smile involuntarily instead, “that I've heard over the last few years, well.” He lets his hands fall heavily onto his thighs, and the slapping sound ricochets around the room. “I'd be able to send myself back to Stanford with money to spare."

 

Cas shakes his head, listening but refusing to really hear Sam's words.

 

"Look at him, Cas. Just look." And Cas does look; Dean is broken, and pale, and bruised, but still the most beautiful soul he has ever seen. His heart lets out one painful, longing thud.

 

"Are you seriously telling me that after this, you'd go through life not admitting how you feel? That maybe you'd risk losing him permanently without ever telling him?"

 

Sam's voice breaks with his last words, and Cas aches for him; there's an echo in what Sam is saying for himself there, as much as what he's trying to say to Cas. Cas wonders what words Sam is rehearsing to say to Dean if he wakes, then corrects himself with a firm _when_ again.

 

They are both silent for a while, and then Cas sucks in a heavy breath, letting it out shakily. He doesn't move, but his eyes flit between Sam and Dean as though he's trying to make a decision.

 

Wordlessly, he raises an unsteady hand, resting his fingers lightly on the side of Dean's hand. As though it is made of something fragile, he slides his fingers underneath into Dean’s palm, loosely grasping onto it. He shoots a glance in Sam's direction to see how he responds, but finds nothing there except for a sad smile.

 

If. _When_ , he tells himself sternly, refusing to give up on Dean when he's never given up on him. _When_ he wakes. _When_ he's better. He'll tell him. He'll be honest. Even if Sam is completely, totally wrong and Dean doesn't feel the same, at least he can be honest.

 

Cas sighs, squeezing Dean's fingers lightly, then falling forward to prop himself up on the side of the bed on one elbow, resuming his silent vigil from there. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sam nod in approval.

 

In a broken voice, Cas whispers, "Come back to us, Dean. Come back. Come back to _me_ . _Please_ , Dean."

 


End file.
